


Protecting Sam

by brokenlittleboy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Chick-Flick Moments, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Dean Winchester, Sam Is Too Good For Any Of Us, Season/Series 11, therapeutic writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 07:58:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6509581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenlittleboy/pseuds/brokenlittleboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam feels like everywhere he goes, people will judge him and look down on him. For a little moment, it really gets to him. Dean's there to make him feel ready to take on the world again.</p><p>Just a quick h/c fic to illustrate a dynamic between Sam and Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Protecting Sam

**Author's Note:**

> Written in a spur of upset, needed therapy. As a result, unbetaed. Enjoy.

“I just can’t do it sometimes!” Sam cries out, his voice choked and cut-off and so thin that Dean can’t even remember what they were talking about. Sam runs a hand through his hair, the strands of hair falling into wavy disarray. “I just. I just need some air,” Sam rasps, and he’s up and at the door before Dean can take another breath.

 

Dean stands, his knees cracking. “Sam, hey, wait--”

 

The door rattles in its frame and Dean flinches. He sighs. He knows Sam didn’t mean to slam it, knows Sam isn’t going anywhere. Whatever’s been on Sam’s mind lately, it’s certainly come to a head. Dean worries his lip between his teeth. He should’ve seen the signs earlier, maybe let them take a breather before hopping into the next hunt. Lord knows they both need it.

 

He gives Sam precisely two and a half minutes of time alone before he nods to himself and slips outside, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. 

 

It’s not a bad night--stars out and twinkling away, cars rumbling on the highway in the distance, the lullaby of their childhood. The motel parking lot is lit up with a few yellowed light posts, and their weak light paints Sam’s face like a pen-and-ink portrait, his set jaw put in stark relief on his face in shades of black and grey.

 

Sam’s sitting against the passenger door of the Impala, his hands resting on his knees. He’s looking down at the ground. Something in Dean’s chest tugs, his protective instinct propelling his feet forward.

 

He plops down next to Sam, staring up at the moon, only a couple days away from being full. Most people would find that beautiful. Knowing what he knows about what thrives in the dark, it only gives Dean anxiety. 

 

“Hey,” he says, taking a glance at Sam’s profile.

 

“Hey,” Sam says quietly, keeping his head tilted down, not meeting Dean’s worried gaze. With a start, Dean notices Sam’s eyes are shiny.

 

He bumps Sam’s elbow with his own. “You wanna talk about it?”

 

Sam’s dimples make a rare appearance as his lips twist up into a brief, sour grin. “No,” he whispers after a pause. 

 

“Sam, c’mon. Talk to me.”

 

Sam laughs. “Feels kind of like role reversal, doesn’t it? With you trying to get me to open up about things and me not budging?”

 

“Yep,” Dean says, stretching his legs out, “complete with you making a comment like that to distract us from the real issue here.”

 

Sam’s smile fades.

 

“Just five minutes of talking, okay? Then you can have your breather.” Dean shifts closer by a hair’s width. His arm brushes against Sam’s, and he feels Sam relax under the touch.

 

Sam clears his throat. “I just feel so… so weak sometimes,” he confesses, voice cracking. “Like everywhere I go, people are repulsed by me. People scream to me about the apocalypse or call me a monster or a freak and I just…” Sam clams up, his adam’s apple bobbing. “I know I’ve made mistakes. A hell of a lot of them. But I just. I only ever did things to help people, you know? And… and haven’t I paid enough? I keep trying to make things better for everyone, but it feels like it’ll never be enough.”

 

Sam shakes his head, and that acidic smile that Dean loathes so much is back. “I get that that’s selfish and whiny, but I just-”

 

“Hey, hey,” Dean growls, meeting Sam’s doe-like gaze when Sam jolts at his tone. “I’m gonna stop you right there, Sammy. You’re not selfish. And you’re sure as hell not fucking whiny. But you’re right about one thing, alright? Hunting is a thankless job. Worse than that, it’s like people are gonna be screamin’ at you no matter what you do. Saying things to get you to react. It’s just a world of hurt.”

 

Dean leans against Sam. “But you can’t let it get to you, dude. You can’t internalize it. That’s gonna kill you. There are gonna be fuckloads of genuinely awful people in our lives pretty much all the time. Not everyone is a good person. Everyone’s going through their own stuff. And these people are gonna lash out at you, are gonna complain about you, insult you, and basically just be giant cryin’ babies, you know? But that’s them. Not You. You just--you can’t let it get to you.”

 

Sam takes a quiet, rattling breath. “I don’t know how, though,” he croaks. “How do you do it?”

 

Dean shrugs. “Like shit,” he says, feeling a little lighter at Sam’s responding grin. “I drink.  And I lash out right back, I say shit I don’t mean, and I know I’ve done it to you… but. Anyway. I keep kicking it in the ass. And I keep saving lives. And I get to do it with you, and with Cas, and with the few other friends we’ve managed to keep along the way. And that’s worth the crap.”

 

Sam’s silent. Dean looks over at him, sees the distance in Sam’s eyes, the cogs turning in his big geekboy head. He hopes Sam’s taking it to heart. The poor kid’s always been too hard on himself.

 

“What brought this on?” Dean murmurs, watching a plane traverse the night sky.

 

Sam shrugs. “Nothing, really. It just started… weighing me down. It’s like I could feel the stares of all the people who thought I was a burden.”

 

“You’re not…” Dean closes his eyes, struggling to contain himself. “I’ll personally kick all those motherfuckers in the ass, alright? You don’t even have to ask.”

 

Sam gives a quiet chuckle. It’s better than nothing. It’s progress.

 

“You know what?” Dean claps Sam on the back before standing, offering a hand to his brother. Sam takes it and hauls himself up, flushing slightly after baring his soul to Dean. Dean knows the feeling. “We both need a break, right? Shit’s been catching up with us. Whaddaya say we go play a few rounds of pool, just for fun? With nachos and extra spicy ribs and some godawful PBR?”

 

Sam gifts him with the first genuine smile of the night, a light breeze tugging his hair out from behind his ears. “Sounds good,” he says.

 

“Good.” Dean gives him one last look, just making sure, coded in brotherspeak.

 

Sam nods back at him, face softening. Message received. He knocks Dean’s shoulder once before climbing into the Impala. 

 

Dean stays out in the parking lot for a moment before he gets into Baby. He never wanted Sam to run into so much hatred and evil, never wanted Sam to seem so old, but it pretty much comes with the job description. 

 

Still. He’d put himself between Sam and any number of people who had beef with little brother, and he’d fight for Sam, tooth and nail. 

  
Sam’s too good for any of them. 

**Author's Note:**

> Found some really vile, mass-spread Sam hate. And I don't mean criticism. I mean just... insults. Hatred. It honest to god shook me to my core, had me crying. It seemed so unfair. So obviously I had to write about how Dean would respond to all of this. Because Dean hates all Sam haters.
> 
> Any comments are appreciated, thank you SO much for reading, means the world <3


End file.
